


Of Ends and Beginnings

by Rynfinity



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 11:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2692031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sun beats down, and the streets are alive with people.  There is indeed the smallest hint of the Realm Eternal here, in the bright skies and sweeping vantage point.  What Thor cannot help but notice almost immediately, though, is how very much the place reminds him of <i>mother</i>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After the end of TDW, Thor looks for his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Ends and Beginnings

"He won't see you," his Midgardian colleagues, some of them friends now, had warned him. "We're told he won't see anyone. Whenever someone gets too close, he moves on."

"Perhaps it's all for the best," the Captain - no, _Steve_ , in sweats now and not in his Avengers uniform - had added somberly. "Sometimes the past belongs to the past, you know?"

But Thor- doesn't. Doesn’t know it, believe it. And he _does_ know his brother. Given time and patience, Thor knows he will prevail.

He will, he must. Truth be told he simply cannot fathom things going any other way.

~

"The south of France," they'd told him when he'd pressed them for answers. "Nice, you know," they'd added when he'd asked for even more. "Marseilles, sometimes, but normally he's spotted around Nice."

At first Thor hadn't understood. Why France, why this small city in particular? But then he'd done a bit of digging (he has a computer of his own now, thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D.) and seen many, many writers alluding to the _special, golden quality of the light_.

Now he understands, and is touched; this place, this _Nice_ , must remind his brother of Asgard.

"You should take a plane," Fury had suggested as Thor had made known his intentions to fly there posthaste. "France is a funny place, diplomatically. Wouldn't want to cause an incident with that hammer you’re so fond of."

Hammer or no, Thor - having already traveled his first (and last) time by commercial carrier some eighteen months ago - had dug in his heels and flatly (if politely; he's come to learn the value of polite discourse in Midgardian society, late for certain but still better than never) refused.

Ultimately they had compromised, Thor and the intrepid one-eyed leader who is _not_ related. Not his king.

~

Hence, the quinjet.

~

Thor sits quietly on one of the thing’s metal benches, thinking of another quinjet and another time.

Of grabbing Loki by the throat and trying - but failing, always failing - to shake a little sense into his wayward brother.

"Why are you looking for him anyway," Steve asks.

The question catches Thor deep in such reverie; he blinks, a little dazed. "I beg your pardon?"

"Sorry," Steve says. Unlike some of the others, too, when _he_ uses the word he always looks as though he means it. "Loki. Why are you looking for Loki? I thought your- I thought _Asgard_ no longer hunted him."

"He fought well and nobly in the last campaign," Thor agrees, nodding. The bench is unyielding under his buttocks; even this is far, far from his favorite means of travel. Everything rattles, even the teeth in his own head. "The Allfather considers my brother’s sentence served, as long as he causes no further trouble." He clears his throat - they _all_ watch, ever vigilant, for signs of that _trouble_ and it leaves him sad - and shrugs. "I seek him out because he is my brother. Last we spoke he was gravely wounded. I would know that he is truly well now. He is my brother," Thor repeats, a bit too loudly this time.

"Adopted," Steve says, and Thor - who is normally quite pleased with his own growing mastery of Midgardian slang, idiom, and delivery – wishes he was perhaps a bit less aware of this- this _judgment_.

"I was perhaps hasty in bandying that about before," Thor admits. "Which is one of the things I regret most thoroughly. For while he is neither flesh of my flesh nor blood of my blood, he is brother to me in every way that matters."

"Have you made the opportunity to tell him that," Steve asks. He is no stranger to regret himself, Thor remembers.

"I shall," he promises the Captain, "when I find him."

~

Thor strolls about downtown Nice clad in Midgardian street clothes - jeans, low boots, a white knitted top with blue stripes and a broad, open neckline he's told is termed a _boat neck_. He's seen people here wearing similar garments both on and off their boats; it's good a term, then, as any.

The sun beats down, and the streets are alive with people. There is indeed the smallest hint of the Realm Eternal here, in the bright skies and sweeping vantage point. What Thor cannot help but notice almost immediately, though, is how very much the place reminds him of _mother_.

~

"You would love it here," he tells her star in these unfamiliar heavens that night as he savors one last glass of wine on his tiny rented balcony. "It is divine. And the _flowers_."

_This_ is what has brought his brother to this otherwise-inconsequential place.

This, they still share. This, he can work with.

~

Thor is in no hurry. After all, he has time.

He does the touristy things, observing the locals as he makes his way about the region, and then he uses what he's learned to blend into the landscape. His French is terrible - he hasn't Loki's facility for languages, after all - but he manages to lie his way about the place regardless.

To the Americans who think he hails from Sydney, he is from Melbourne. To those who know someone from Melbourne, he is of course from Sydney. To those few native Aussies he meets here, he is a British expatriate who'd lived _down under_ long enough to leave the place with a bit of an accent.

And now he is here - Nice, or perhaps Monaco - for his job. For a sabbatical. To write, to paint, to sculpt.

Always, though, he lies with the truth... for the brother he seeks has taught him well. Whatever else he tells them by way of introduction, Thor goes on to explain that he is here looking for a long-lost relative. A slender, dark-haired man with green eyes. And he asks each and every one of them the same question: "Have you seen him?"

~

The south of France, alas, is full of slender men with raven locks and green eyes.

By the end of a few months' time, Thor swears he has made the acquaintance of every one of them. The proprietor of his favorite bakery has even none-too-subtly tried to set him up with one - an attractive, charming Dutch man nothing like his brother - under the working hypothesis that _he is looking for a date but too polite to admit it._

He isn't.

The nice young man does prove surprisingly helpful, though. After much searching Thor has finally come by some modern Midgardian photos of his brother which are not a product of Stuttgart's surveillance. The two of them study the images together.

"He's very handsome, your brother," the man - _Mats_ , he calls himself – offers once they’ve looked through the whole set several times. He has a pleasant smile, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. Under other circumstances Thor might be tempted. "And I think I have indeed seen him. In fact," he adds, looking one last time at the pictures, “I am sure of it.”

"Where," Thor breathes. He is lightheaded. "Are you certain?"

Mats smiles again and looks shyly away. "Like I said, he is most handsome. Yes," he says more firmly, looking back up at Thor. His cheeks have flushed pink. "He might tend the floral gardens for a Mas-turned-hotel near Eze. At least," he adds with a shrug, expressive hands spread wide, "that is where I have seen him most often. Do you have anything with which to write?”

Thor nods. He pulls a small notebook from his trousers and proffers it, along with his nicest pen.

Mats neatly prints not only an address, but also quick directions. "I am not stalking him," he says, laughing, as he pushes pen and paper back across the tile-topped cafe table. "I promise. It just happens to be the place I buy my pain de compagne. Good luck to you," he says as he stands, gracefully, with a last friendly smile. "And do keep me posted."

~

Back in his rooms Thor rips his wardrobe apart searching in vain for something inconspicuous. It is a ridiculous quest, he knows, as Loki will know him in a heartbeat no matter what he wears.

He does it anyway.

~

Sure enough: "Mon frère plus cher," his brother says in (what sounds to Thor’s tin ear to be) perfectly-accented Provençal French as the two of them regard one another cautiously across a large hedgerow.

Loki’s eyes are guarded, his face blank.

"Englais, s'il te plaît," Thor starts off, and then gives up. "My French is terrible."

"Yes, that it is," Loki agrees. For an instant, in his eyes, Thor sees a hint of the _old Loki_. "What brings you to my hedgerow?"

Thor swallows. Everything he'd carefully rehearsed has flown right out of his mind. "I want to talk with you," he blurts out.

"Voila," Loki says drily. "Your wish, it seems, has been granted. Now may I go?"

_Of course you may_ and _please, please don't_ do battle for possession of Thor's tongue. "Um," he says instead, stupidly. He closes his eyes, more than half expecting Loki to be gone when he reopens them. "I hope we can talk more another time, then," he chances.

He opens one eye, just a crack. His brother is still there. Grinning, too, although it's not a particularly warm or pleasant smile.

"And why should I grant you audience, brother," Loki asks smoothly. "You who abandoned me for dead?"

"Because I love you," Thor starts, because he’s come too far not to speak his mind, "and more than that because I'm sorry."

"Perhaps," Loki says after a long pause. Thor thinks he may faint. "We shall see," his brother adds, eyes narrowed as he turns to go. "As far as speaking with you goes, this does seem an unusually auspicious beginning."


End file.
